


until we meet again

by boompits



Category: Free!, Haikyuu!!
Genre: (laughs), Crossover, M/M, rarepair, thighsex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boompits/pseuds/boompits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting in Tokyo. A one night stand.</p><p>A once-in-a-lifetime instance that will never reoccur. ( 一期一会 <i>ichi-go ichi-e</i> )</p>
            </blockquote>





	until we meet again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [controlscircus](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=controlscircus).



> In response to [this prompt](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/4049.html?thread=287697#cmt287697) for saso2015!!
> 
> "The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive."  
> - _Richard Siken, Saying Your Names_

It starts on a train, between half a carriage of tired businessmen and self-absorbed schoolgirls on the way back from cram school. Crowded. 8:40pm. The crowd jostles Sousuke's sore shoulder and he feels his brows draw further beneath the brim of his black baseball cap. He tries to turn away from the press of bodies, tries to stick as close to the cool metal of the carriage wall as he can, but it's a bit hard with how broad as his shoulders are. Then a silhouette cuts into his halogen light.

Sousuke looks across—and up, ever so slightly—into the stoic face of a guy around his own age. Maybe 190cm. A dark olive gaze looks back at him, steady.

"What are you doing," Sousuke says. It's not too often that guys on the train get into his personal space. It's not too often that they're taller than him. Sousuke might still be a shade broader across the back, even with his arm in a sling, but they're probably around the same weight. The same muscle-to-mass ratio.

"The strong should protect the weak," Mr. Stoic says.

Sousuke narrows his eyes, unimpressed. Sure, he's just on his way back from seeing a sports injury specialist, but Mr. Stoic doesn't know that. " _Did you just call me weak_." Sousuke keeps his voice low, barely a suggestion of violence. They're on a train, after all. In public.

Mr. Stoic seems to shrug without moving. "It is different on the court, of course. I show none of my opponents mercy. But you are injured." A pause. "I am Ushijima Wakatoshi."

"I didn't ask," Sousuke tells him but then pauses too, because his mother would be ashamed if she heard him. Hell, even _Rin_ would ask where his manners were. "Yamazaki Sousuke."

Ushijima nods. "I play volleyball."

 _I don't care._ "I swim." Technically, _swam_.

"Ah," Ushijima says. He gives Sousuke's damaged shoulder a once-over. "Rotator cuff tear?"

Sousuke feels a sour taste colour his words. "Who knows." _Probably._

"I see."

Ushijima stops talking then and, Sousuke, with nothing else in his field of vision but Ushimjima's face, drops his gaze a little, weary. At least he isn't being jostled anymore. Ushijima stands steady as a rock on their moving train, hand pressed to the carriage wall by Sousuke's ear.

Ushijima smells like deodorant and a quick, post-training shower. He's decked out in a black, red and white tracksuit uniform that has _JAPAN_ emblazoned beneath their national flag just left of the zip. A national-level player? Another high-flyer, then... just like Rin. Just like Sousuke had once been. And didn't that just figure.

The train lurches to the side around a bend and a grab-handle swings gently into Ushijima's ear. Startled, he turns—it swings again and taps him on the nose. Ushijima blinks. Sousuke feels a smile creep onto his face watching the scene play out. "You aren't local, are you?" he says. No self-respecting skyscraper from Tokyo would let himself be ambushed by the grab-handles in front of train doors.

Ushijima frowns, shifting minutely away from the grab-handle. Closer to Sousuke. "...my school is located in Miyagi," he says with a trace of stiffness.

"You're training here?" Sousuke supposes. Tokyo should be where all national-level athletes gather, after all.

Ushijima nods.

"Where are your teammates?"

A frown tugs down the sides of Ushijima's mouth. "They have gone drinking because it is Friday, despite the fact we have another training session from six in the morning tomorrow."

Sousuke raises a brow. "Wouldn't they be suspended if they were caught?" He pauses in thought. "You _are_ with the Under-19's, aren't you?" Though Ushijima's face is by all appearances made of stone, there's a juvenile light to his competitive eyes that Sousuke feels resonate with himself. He would guess eighteen, nineteen...

"Yes," Ushijima confirms. "It is for that reason I will not join them."

Sousuke chuckles. Ushijima is not only a stick in the mud, but also old-fashioned. "So you're free 'til six in the morning tomorrow?"

Ushijima raises one brow but nods anyway.

"I'm staying at a hotel near Ikebukuro station," Sousuke says, a grin resting lopsided on his face. "Twin share, no roommate. Come over if you've got some time tonight. Stay over if you want."

Ushijima seems to have a quiet fight with himself, brows knotting. He glances at a large duffle—assumedly his—on the luggage rack behind Sousuke's head. He looks at his hand against the carriage wall, frowns a little more to himself and says, at great length, "...my roommate is... disrespectfully noisy. Last week he returned at 3am on Saturday." Raising his gaze back to Sousuke's, he says, resolved, "I shall accept your invitation. Allow me to pay for half the cost of the room."

Sousuke shakes his head, waving Ushijima off—a small gesture with his good hand. "I'm in this sling until my next appointment. Just help a guy out for a night and we'll call it even."

Ushijima nods. "Understood. It is a deal."

 

*

Sousuke isn't sure what Ushijima is expecting, but a guy doesn't ask a guy _if he's got some time tonight_ for no reason.

"Allow me to help you with that," Ushijima says, offering to take Sousuke's backpack on their way out of the station.

"It's alright, I've got it," Sousuke says—but pauses not ten minutes later in front of the door to their room for the night (after just one wrong turn along the way). He's still got his bag in hand, and he could easily just _put it down_ but—"Ah. The keycard..."

"Where is it?" Ushijima says.

"Right back pocket."

Ushijima doesn't have any qualms about slipping his sizable left hand down the curve of Sousuke's ass, so Sousuke takes his chances.

"Go ahead," he says, once they've stepped inside. He toes off his shoes and sets his backpack down next to his bed. "I'll join you in the shower. Just give me a minute."

Ushijima pauses in the narrow space at the end of his own bed, eyes tracking transparently from Sousuke's face to his shoulder, to the change of clothes he's methodically pulling from his trundle bag in the closet, piece by piece.

"Don't worry, I'll manage," Sousuke says with a crooked smile. Ushijima nods and retrieves his toiletries and towel from his duffle before disappearing into the bathroom. The door closes. The lock doesn't click. Sousuke shakes his head, the half-smile still on his face. He's gotten lucky for once. Ushijima's a good guy.

The shower is barely big enough for the both of them, toe to toe, but that suits Sousuke just fine. It's novel, almost, having to lean up just the slightest bit for a kiss. He slides his hand through the short hair at the back of Ushijima's neck and Ushijima humours him, leaning down.

It feels different from the handful of times Sousuke's messed about with members of his Tokyo swim team. Ushijima's just as toned, just as strong as any of them, maybe even stronger, but doesn't smell the slightest bit like chlorine. For once, at the very heart of it, Sousuke doesn't feel like he's got anything to prove. This is just a one night stand. Ushijima Wakatoshi isn't a name he thinks he'll remember in ten years' time—hell, in two.

The shower wall's cheap plastic presses cool against Sousuke's shoulders, warming fast under the heat of his skin, the press of Ushijima hip-to-chest before him and the low, hot rise of his cock beneath. Ushijima's arm holds strong at Sousuke's back.

Ushijima kisses like he looks, hard and intense, solid and practical. It makes Sousuke's jaw ache in a good way, makes him try to give as much as he gets, even if he can't quite manage it. This time. His shoulder throbs.

"Can I?" Ushijima says, the flat of his palm pressed low against Sousuke's stomach, sliding lower.

"Yeah," Sousuke breathes against Ushijima's mouth. He's been waiting for this, dying to release some of the acid tension since he was dropped from his team, since his coach told him not to come back until he was _ready_ ( _I was born ready_ ), since being unable to swim.

Ushijima's strong, calloused left hand feels so good. He strokes them together, roughly, and Sousuke's breath grows ragged. Breaking away from Ushijima's mouth, Sousuke leans his head back in the shower mist that surrounds them, feels the lightness of the spray on his skin. Ushijima leans down and presses an oddly gentle kiss to Sousuke's left shoulder—and another.

Sousuke grits his teeth. " _Fuck_ , Ushijima. What are you doing..."

"Nothing of significance," Ushijima says, straightening back up. He grips Sousuke's hips roughly and turns him around. Sousuke barely manages to brace himself before Ushijima shoves his legs together, slapping Sousuke's thighs so he can't miss the hint, and shoves his dick into the gap between them.

That... that feels really good, too, Sousuke thinks vaguely, face buried in the crook of his good arm, pressed up against the shower wall and Ushijima's strong hands holding him steady, anchors against the slap of their skin and the force of his thrusts, the slide of his dick under Sousuke's ass and the press of its head into his balls. When Ushijima touches him again, the sure grip of his left hand draws low sounds from Sousuke's throat. Sousuke lets his hips buck ineffectually and just. Remembers to breathe. He feels like drowning. It's been a while since he's let someone else take control.

 

*

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Ushijima asks into the darkness, later.

Sousuke counts two more of the faint, dancing stars behind his eyelids before looking up to stare at the ceiling. "Nothing," he says, feeling blank. "Doctor's appointment in the afternoon."

"Alright," Ushijima says, sounding resolute. "Then I won't wake you when I leave."

"We'll see," Sousuke says, thinking it unlikely. But when sleep finally comes for him it's the deepest, soundest rest he's had in months and it's well into midday by the time he finally stirs. His shoulder throbs. Ushijima is long gone.

On the small table between their beds is a note on the back of a receipt, in left-sloping handwriting.

 

_Yamazaki._

_I would curse my fate if I lost the use of my left arm._  
_May you make a full recovery._  
_May we meet again on a national stage._

_Ushijima Wakatoshi._

 

No number, no nothing.

"Idiot," Sousuke mutters, balling the note into his fist. He tosses it into the waste paper basket. It's not as if national-level swimming and volleyball sports centers are ever in the same building. It's not as if, in a few weeks' time, Sousuke won't in all likelihood leave Tokyo and the competitive swimming world behind.

 _Idiot_.

He's so tired. Weary.

Laying back down on his unfamiliar bed, he thinks of Rin and dreams of relays. He thinks of the anti-inflammatories he's taking and the specialist he's seeing in a few hours. He thinks about subacromial steroid injections and the idea of surgery and rehab and more rehab and the name of _Ushijima Wakatoshi_ and wonders why, sometimes, there are no such things as second chances.

 


End file.
